Unspeakable
by terabient
Summary: ...I watched as children bled to death in the streets..."


Unspeakable  
  
Disclaimer: Skies of Arcadia is the property of Overworks and Sega. No profit is being made from the posting of this fanfic. It is for entertainment purposes only.  
  
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She drifted, lost, amid the shattered ruins of her only home.  
  
She was not alone. Next to her, the unconscious form of her liege lord lay beside her, and though she knew it was her duty to make certain he was safe, she allowed herself this one moment.  
  
A moment to wallow alone in her grief.  
  
Her ship flew sluggishly through the ruined kingdom of Valua, almost directionless, as its pilot was in little condition to fly with any real concentration. Occasionally, the woman would turn the ship to avoid obstacles, more for the safety of her passenger than for any care for her own life. And what, she wondered, do I have to live for anyway?  
  
The lady admiral passed over the rubble of Lower Valua, her eyes fixated on the scene below her. There was no movement at all; no winds stirred the air over the graves of her people. There was no noise, there was nothing left alive to make a sound. Silence blanketed those who had died screaming, unable to understand the horror plummiting down on them. Nothing was left but the dead.  
  
And there were thousands. She could not see whole bodies; only bits and pieces of the victims were visible. Bloodied hands lay severed between piles of scorched stone; battered limbs were scattered over the smoking debris. As her ship passed slowly over the shattered city, the lady admiral caught sight of hair and clothing stirring in the slight breeze she created. She turned her head away, then, unwilling to see the faces, the corpses, of those buried beneath her.  
  
On she travelled, her eyes scanning the blasted rubble, desperate to find some sign of life. Anything, to restore her hope. Anything, to shatter her mounting fears, to stave off the horrifying realization, we may be the only ones-  
  
No.  
  
By all the gods, she cried out silently, by the Six Moons, let it not be so!  
  
As if hearing her despairing cry, the woman caught sight of sudden movement. It was minor, almost negligible, seen only in the corner of her eye- yet hope, irrational and undying, took root in her soul. The woman turned her ship around, racing to find someone-something-anything....  
  
She came upon a small clearing in the endless destruction. Lying amid the broken stones of once-towering buildings, a group of children huddled next to each other. She could not tell how many there were. Drawing her ship closer, the lady admiral began to wonder if her mind had been playing tricks, if all the children were dead already...  
  
Again there was movement. A hand, raised slightly above the stones, waved weakly. The lady brought her ship down, to see the small group more clearly.  
  
Her breath caught in her throat. The group of children was composed almost completely of corpses-whole corpses. Horribly complete. Dull eyes bugged out from faces frozen in unheard shrieks of fear and pain. Fire had burned away skin from some of the children completely, leaving only burned bones fused to the stone they lay on. The woman tried to turn her head away, to close her eyes, but she could not-her mind had detatched from her body, and she could only watch as her ship drifted closer, closer to the scene.  
  
The hand that had drawn her attention moved once again. Ripping her gaze away from the sight approaching, the admiral looked to the hand, praying- begging-that something good would come of this.  
  
The child was still alive. It was a boy, a small boy, though she could not tell his age with any accuracy. His hand twitched, once, as the shadow of her ship fell on him. His other hand covered his stomach, in a pitiful attempt to cover a gaping wound in his stomach-a hole, roughly the size of a melon, had been punched through him, burning away flesh and bone, tissues and organs. A yellow stone could be seen through the boy, at the bottom of the hole it had burned through the child. The boy shuddered, eyes becoming so wide the woman thought they might fall out-and fell still, his raised arm falling stiffly to rest at his side.  
  
On her ship, the admiral stumbled, collapsing onto the floor, unable to support herself. No tears stung her eyes; they were dryer than the deserts of Nasr, unable to blink, capable only of staring. She felt as if her eyes would never close-if they did she would see again the corpses-the boy-  
  
She almost blacked out, her mind unable to function, refusing to observe any more of this. She almost welcomed the darkness, eager to lose herself, to forget.  
  
The prince. The prince was still here. The lady admiral had a sudden image of the prince waking, alone, standing up to be greeted by bodies twisted in agony. No. No one must see this. It would kill them, it had killed her-she could not fathom living after this.  
  
She stood, making her way to the wheel, hands woodenly grasping at it. She felt detached, empty, as if her mind and will had been siphoned out of her body, and had become two seperate beings. Her body turned the wheel, directed her ship away from the city, while her mind watched her leave, to flit aimlessly among the corpses of her home forever.  
  
She flew past the Imperial Palace, being eaten by flames. She had loved, hated, admired and despised the people there-and now, like everything else, they no longer were.  
  
The lady leaned heavily against the wheel, the only physical sign of her despair. Inside herself, she could feel her soul die, withering away in the flames of her grief, devouring her.  
  
She travelled until the sight of the city was almost gone. A lurid glow lit up the skies above her hometown, smoke rising from the burning buildings. A message, sent to all those who dared opposed Lord Galcian.  
  
A funeral pyre, for her people.  
  
He will pay for this, she began but could not finish. What could pay for this? What sort of revenge, no matter how long or cruel, could possibly make amends for this? No matter what happened to him, no matter how horrible the suffering he would endure be, it would not pay for this. For this was too great, too awful a thing to be paid for. For nothing would explain the death of the boy, of the children, of all the people. Nothing, no doctrine or ideal or vision, could dare to justify this horror.  
  
And she could do nothing, for there was nothing left.  
  
Nothing at all.  
  
  
  
-end  
  
____________  
  
Shameless plugs:  
  
Swashbuckler (a Vyse shrine) ^^;;;;  
  
http://www.fortunecity.com/skyscraper/hamilton/1790/vyse.html  
  
Yes, I AM obsessed. Deal. 


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